


Color Coded Speak

by SmartKIN



Series: So Damn Beautiful [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3+1 Things, Angst, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Stiles Stilinski, Friendship, Lydia Being Lydia, M/M, Pre-Slash, Team Human, allusions to the fucked up shit that keeps happening in Beacon Hills, ambiguous timeline, body issues, but no actual references, implied sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 14:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7226806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmartKIN/pseuds/SmartKIN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Stiles accidentally outs himself over the years but no one believes him. Plus one time Derek accidentally outs him and they finally do.</p><p>(You probably don't need to know the series to understand what's going on.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Color Coded Speak

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm, I have no idea about clothes, so if I butchered any terms or descriptions I'm very sorry. Here's the dress that's featured in this story, because you're probably gonna want the visual aid: [Click here.](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/61/46/b5/6146b578556ca7002518755ded295f18.jpg)
> 
> Another thing. I wrote the first scenes ages ago, so if the writing style happens to change somewhat later on, that's probably why.
> 
> Oh and, here's [my tumblr](http://lloydoholic.tumblr.com/) in case you're interested.

1

Stiles couldn’t help but stare at the bright pink dress, feeling an abstract sort of horror wash over him. Ordinarily, no one would believe that he possessed any sort of fashion sense, but he needed his layers to feel safe, didn’t know how to dress like a proper _manly_ boy, when all he really wanted was to parade around in lace and frills. He knew his dresses, okay, and the rag in front of him was definitely a bad choice for everyone involved.

He dragged a hand over his face in an attempt to get rid of the mental image that seemed burned permanently into his retinas and groaned.

Why had nobody told Mandy not to leave the house like that?

Stiles didn’t realize that he had muttered that last part out loud until a cutting voice rang out right behind him.

“What would _you_ know about that?”

He flinched and barely staved off a minor heart attack – he hadn't payed any attention to his surroundings and hadn't noticed the girl’s approach.

Curling his shoulders protectively in on himself, Stiles turned around to face his crush to end all crushes.

Dressed to the nines, like always, Lydia Martin swept her icy gaze over his appearance that contained too much plaid and too many baggy items of clothing, and raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. God, she was perfect.

“Well,” he said nervously, trying to think of an answer that didn’t involve the truth, and coming up short. “I like to dress in drag in my free time.”

Lydia rolled her eyes.

“Hilarious.”

Without another word, she turned on her heels and stalked away, ignoring him for the rest of the day. Not that she usually paid him much attention, like, ever.

Stiles couldn’t believe that he had gotten away with his honest answer without instantly having been turned into the laughing stock of his school. The fact that Lydia hadn’t believed him only hurt a little bit. And the bitter taste in his mouth? Totally a residue of the awful cafeteria food. Yeah.

 

2

Later, Stiles would blame his forgetfulness on his lack of sleep and his broken alarm clock, which had made him roll out of bed and grab the first clothes he could find before taking his Jeep straight to school. There hadn’t even been time for a Starbucks-issued industrial-strength coffee on the way, he’d been _that late_.

When he shuffled into World History five minutes after the bell it was a true miracle that he didn’t earn detention for it. He had to look worse then he felt – barely above the level of a semi-cognizant zombie.

He wasn’t even pretending to take notes, just stared into blank space, and it took him almost half an hour to realize that people were shooting him weird looks.

He frowned and glanced around himself, his questioning gaze finally landing on Danny, who was sitting at the desk to his right and who decided to take pity on him.

“Interesting shade of nail polish.”

Stiles froze.

No.

It couldn’t be–

Daring to look at his fingernails, he realized that Danny was right; pale gray, dusted off with golden glitter – something he’d experimented with last night.

Stiles couldn’t believe that he had forgotten to remove it, he was getting way too careless.

Heat rose to his cheeks.

There was no way he could talk himself out of this one.

He decided to react in the only way he knew how: jumping in head first with a lot of (metaphorical) flailing.

“I know, it clashes with my shirt, doesn’t it? I should have gone with red, but I was kinda late to school, there was no time to color-coordinate! Stupid, I know..”

Danny just smirked and didn’t seem to notice his internal freak-out.

“Still trying to find out whether you’re attractive to gay guys?”

Huh.

Apparently he really could do anything in this school and people would just chalk it up to his eccentricities, his weird brain having an idea and him being unable to concentrate on anything else until he'd followed through.

It would be a nice reputation, he thought, very liberating, if it didn't mean that nobody ever took him seriously. It was weird, being so conflicted over people dismissing him even when he was wearing nail polish to class. At least nobody was giving him any shit, right? Right.

 

3

The section of beauty products at the 24-hour Macy's was an actual slice of heaven. Not only because nobody bat an eyelash when he was shopping here, simply assuming he was being an attentive boyfriend, but also because he could come here whenever insomnia struck again without running into any familiar faces. Because that would simply be awkward beyond measure.

What he hadn't considered, however, was that he wasn't the only one in this Hellmouth of a town who had trouble sleeping. This uncharacteristic optimism left him entirely unprepared to deal with his favorite Argent when she suddenly appeared next to him.

Stiles was completely engrossed in the display of lipsticks, wondering which of these would look best in combination with the dress he had just ordered online. He was holding a different brand of mauve lipstick in each hand, comparing their color with a concentrated frown. A bunch of YouTube tutorials had revealed to him what a freaking noob he still was when it came to make-up and he'd decided that it was high time he became an expert.

An unexpected voice startled him out of his contemplation.

“Stiles!”

He nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Allison! _Jesus!_ ”

She had the decency to look a little sheepish.

“Sorry.”

He waved her off and tried to get his racing heartbeat back under control. Then it dawned on him that Allison had caught him in the make-up section at Macy's while he was clutching lipstick in both hands. Fuck.

“Uhm...” he began, his mind going completely blank. Then he blurted out the first thing that he could think of, which happened to be way too close to the truth: “Which of these go better with my skin tone, do you think?”

Allison's nose crinkled endearingly as she drew her eyebrows together, studying first the lipstick, then Stiles. Her expression was both wary and pitying at the same time.

Gods. What had he gotten himself into?

“That's not really her color, you know,” she said and returned her attention to the lipstick.

Stiles blinked in confusion, momentarily thrown. This was not what he had expected her to say.

“What?”

“If you're thinking of buying something for Lydia.”

Ah, of course. That made sense.

He suppressed a sigh.

His epic crush on the redhead once again overshadowed everything. Which was good, he told himself, he didn't want to come out anyway. This had been an accident and he was lucky that people only saw what they expected to see: him being too embarrassed to admit to his continued feelings for Lydia Martin, no matter how doomed they actually were. No matter that his feelings had lately been straying towards another person entirely.

“Right,” he mumbled and put the lipstick back where he found it. “Thanks.”

Allison's lips curved into a small smile, and he realized that she was still trying to claw her way back out of the abyss, that happiness didn't come easy to any of them, lately. He smiled back, knowing it looked probably as tired as he felt. He suddenly minded it a little less that she had interrupted his super secret shopping trip. They could both use the company. Which was why he picked up a ridiculous shade of orange and held it up for her inspection.

“What about this one,” he asked and waggled his eyebrows.

Her answering grin made him feel a little bit better about himself. They spent the next hour trying to out-do each other with finding the most ridiculous items of make-up, all the while imagining how Lydia would verbally slay them if they were to actually buy that stuff for her.

It was the most fun Stiles had had in a while.

 

+1

Their history project turned out to be more tricky than anybody had previously expected and one meeting turned soon into two, then into three. Not that Stiles was complaining. He was still surprised that he had been assigned to join both Lydia and Allison for this project, and would gladly drag this out as much at possible. A tiny, bitter part of his brain told him that they probably hated every second of it, but Stiles was usually able to ignore that part. At least he wouldn't be ruining Lydia's perfect GPA, since he was an awesome student himself, as long as he managed to stay focused on the actual assignment. And the girls would probably kill him if he didn't.

So really, he was happy to spend another evening with them, this time at the Stilinski residence. It was great to hang out with his favorite fellow humans, especially for something so mundane as school work instead of supernatural disasters. He'd even managed to score some points in Lydia's book by stocking her favorite snacks – not that she would ever admit to that, but the appreciative hum had been praise enough.

Allison, on the other hand, had pretty much devoured his supply of Twizzlers single-handedly by the time they were almost ready to call it a night, and Stiles was itching to conduct more research on the matter – would she have eaten more if there had been more? Or had that been the perfect amount of sweets? Was she simply unable to withstand the siren call of Twizzlers? Who knew? Stiles vowed to find out.

These latter thoughts were proof enough that he could no longer concentrate on their project, and he was glad when his dad came home from the station, thereby naturally breaking up their little study date.

The sheriff walked into the living room with a smile, surveying the mess that was their dining table.

“Hard at work, I see.”

“Hi, Sheriff Stilinski,” chirped Lydia in her signature 'making adults everywhere love me for my polite and outgoing nature' tone of voice.

“Yo, dad,” he greeted and tried not to roll his eyes at the redhead's antics. When Allison only smiled and waved, Stiles glanced at her and noticed the slight strain around her eyes. Instantly, he wondered what that was about.

But he didn't get a chance to ask.

His dad came closer and only now did Stiles spot a large, rectangular box in his hands, which was now unceremoniously put down on top of the mess, consisting of an entire tree's worth of paper, drawn maps, spreadsheets, pens and markers.

“Somebody left this on the porch for you,” his dad explained, before leaving them to their own devices.

While his dad receded into the kitchen to find something edible, Stiles had a brief moment of panic. Had he ordered anything incriminating? Had he failed to hear the delivery service?

He wracked his brain, but couldn't think of anything.

“Thanks, dad.”

He studied the box and finally recognized the fancy golden logo printed on creme colored carton – the logo of his favorite boutique in San Francisco. Well, fuck.

Lydia was already eyeing the package in a speculative sort of way and Stiles knew that he would not get out of this.

He grabbed the box and dropped it onto the empty seat next to him, pretending he didn't care about it at all.

“Let's go over our conclusion one more ti–”

“I don't think so.”

Internally he cringed at Lydia's decisive tone. Damn it all.

“ _Lydia_ ,” hissed Allison urgently, trying to make her best friend see the error of her ways. It was sweet, but ultimately futile.

“Open it,” Lydia demanded, showing no regard for other people's boundaries.

Stiles raised an eyebrow, simply staring at her with an incredulous expression plastered across his face. It was a pathetic attempt at resistance and would never ever work, not when it came to Lydia freaking Martin.

“Lydia,” Allison tried again, more resigned than before.

“There are obviously clothes in that box. It's an expensive boutique, and I want to see how Stilinski has managed to turn that into a crime against humanity. It's his own special brand of magic: clothes pass through his hands and I instantly want to gouge my eyes out.”

Wow, he thought, and stared at the redhead with wide eyes.

 _Ouch_.

“Oh my God, Lydia,” Allison mumbled and dropped her face into her hands.

Lydia didn't seem to care about their discomfort and simply smiled at him with that demanding and definitely fake sweet smile.

“Well?”

Stiles sighed.

“You are the worst.”

He put the box back onto the table and reluctantly worked off the lid with jerky, stubborn movements. If he was forced to do this, he could at least telegraph his displeasure very loudly with every gesture. He was very good at that, with lots of practice under his belt.

While he was pretending to be simply put out, he was actually starting to panic in earnest now. Different thoughts jumbled together in his mind, from 'it had to happen eventually' and 'I shouldn't be forced to come out', followed by a chiding 'it's not like they know they're forcing you' and finally, 'maybe I can make a run for it'.

His palms were getting clammy as he finally managed to pry the lid off the box, and his heart was trying to break out of his ribcage. Intellectually he knew that neither Allison nor Lydia would be horrible about this. Probably. Lydia might critique his fashion sense with fierce abandon, but after werewolves and kanimas and undead boyfriends, a little crossdressing would barely be a blip on their radars, right? And no matter what was in this box, he could probably play it off as a practical joke, right? _Right_?

The lid came off and the first thing he spotted was a note – a stark white island in a sea of dark red taffeta. Silence had descended upon the living room and he bit his lip as he reached for the note. His hand was trembling almost imperceptibly, and when his fingertips touched the heavy smooth paper it sent a shiver up his arm. He was suddenly too aware of his own body, a feeling he was long since familiar with, but hated all the same. He was just simply aware of the shape and position of his limbs, of the space he was taking up, of all the little imperfections that made him hate himself on bad days, and for a moment it was hard to breathe.

He swallowed and concentrated on the message written in a looping, black script.

_This will look good on you – DH_

He put the card aside, feeling a little light-headed all of a sudden, and stared at the dress. The color was gorgeous, and wasn't it funny that a werewolf was trying to dress him in red? _Or maybe_ , a traitorously hopeful voice in the back of his head whispered, _he's seen you in that red hoodie way too many times and knows how good that color suits you?_

Stiles wasn't sure how to feel about any of this anymore.

He tugged at the taffeta until one layer unfolded, spilling out across his history notes. It was enough to show that it really _was_ a dress, strap-less and with a sash made of a darker shade of red, almost black, that probably helped to evoke the illusion of curves were there weren't any.

He bit down on his bottom lip.

When he was finally able to recover tiny traces of his courage he looked up and found himself at the receiving end of two wide-eyed stares. But he got no chance to explain himself, because Lydia suddenly pointed an accusing finger at him.

“You actually weren't joking about wearing drag!”

And it took him an embarrassing long moment to recall the incident with Mandy. That had been months ago and Stiles was reluctantly impressed that Lydia remembered it at all. If he were still crushing on her as much as he used to, he'd be on cloud nine right about now.

Allison interrupted his musings by slapping a hand against her forehead, probably recalling their evening at Macy's.

“Oh. _Oh._ ”

This had to be what watching a train wreck felt like. He was absolutely unable to stop it from happening.

When Lydia suddenly slammed her palm onto the table with a fierce glower, he was no longer surprised by anything.

“You could have told me that it was just camouflage! If I had known about it, your awful t-shirt sport coat combos and over-abundance of plaid would not have given me so many headaches! You owe me for this, Stilinski!”

Apparently that was all too much for Allison, because she collapsed onto the table, head dropping on her folded arms and her entire body was shaking with helpless laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation.

Stiles, however, could only gape at them both. This was not at all what he had expected.

Maybe, he thought, it really would be okay if more of his friend knew about his biggest secret.

He couldn't suppress the huge smile that spread across his face, and if it was a little watery, well, nobody called him out on it.

 

+1.5

“Wait a second,” Lydia said once he had ushered them both out of his house, half an hour later, “why is Derek Hale buying you dresses?”

He groaned.

Sometimes he wished Lydia Martin wasn't such a freaking genius.

 


End file.
